


stagecraft and stage kisses

by madameofmusic



Series: Tumblr Fic [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: High School AU, M/M, Theatre AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9142996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Whiskey is the stage manager for Samwell High, and Tango an actor. The LAX Bros are crew, and SMH + SWV are the actors.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got the prompt, “First kiss” from [this](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/post/152833896118/askfic-kiss-meme) prompt meme, for Whiskey/Tango. I made it into a High School Theatre AU.

“Hi! Do you have a second?” Whiskey looks up, from his script, and frowns. In front of him is a chipper boy wearing a green T-Shirt, and a much too cheerful expression for the first week of practice. His name is... Tony, or Timmy, or something, it definitely starts with a T.

But that’s all Whiskey knows for sure. _You know, Whittman, for a stage manager, you sure don’t know what the hell you’re doing,_ the voice of Chad A. chimes in his head.

“Fuck off.” He mumbles under his breath. _Names aren’t important for my job, Chad._

“Uh, huh?” The kid (Whiskey’s pretty sure they’re the same age, he and… Tony? But still). “Um, I didn’t mean to bother you? I just wanted to ask about blocking because I lost my script, and Director Hall said to come to you and-”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t talking to you.” Whiskey says, turning off his headset, the voices of Chads R. and K. going quiet.

Tony frowns. “Okay. So…”

Whiskey sighs, and kicks out the chair next to him. “Sit down.”

Tony nods. “So, I’m the understudy for Jason? And I wasn’t sure about all these directions he wrote on his script, but I copied them down anyway, but they still don’t make sense.”

Whiskey takes Tony’s script, and flips to the first page of both his and Tony’s. He scans down, looking at their notes. “Okay. You don’t have any of the right blocking.”

Tony looks crestfallen. “I swear I wrote I copied all of Jason’s notes down right-”

“Jason’s an idiot.” Whiskey mutters. He looks between his script, and Tony’s. “Take mine. Copy down all the right notes, and then bring it back when you’re done.”

Tony perks right back up. “Thank you! Oh man, you’re really helping me out here. What’s your name again?”

Whiskey bites down on a smile, and nods. “Mason. Whittman, Whiskey for short. And it’s my job.”

“Thanks, Whiskey!” Tony stands. “Oh, I’m Tango, by the way.”

Whiskey stares for a second, and then turns back to his desk. “Bring it back in one piece.” He says, flipping the channel back on, wincing as the sound of off-key Journey filters through the tinny speakers.

Tango leaves, taking the script with him.

* * *

“Hey! Whiskey!” Whiskey turns around from where he’s talking quietly with Director Hall, and arches an eyebrow. Tango comes careening off stage, looking worried. Director Hall nods at him, and then wanders off, probably to yell at Chad R. for dicking around with the lighting again.

“Tango.”

“Director Murray just told Jason to get the hell out of the theatre, and then when Jason asked if he was kidding, Director Murray said that if he saw him in his theatre one more time, he’d ban him from the program until he was eighty. I guess that’s what you get for being late every practice, and not knowing your lines two weeks before opening, but-”

Whiskey feels a migraine coming on. “Tango, slow down. What?”

“I think Murray fired Jason. And I think I might be the lead now?”

Whiskey resists the urge to bury his face in his hands, and instead sighs, loudly. “Look, stay here. I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, and one calmed down Murray, Whiskey is standing in front of Tango with the official script. “This is yours.” He takes Tango’s photocopied version, and tosses it on his desk. “Congrats, you’re the lead.”

Tango looks between Whiskey and the script in his hand. “Really?”

Whiskey nods. “Hope you have your lines memorized.”

Tango nods furiously, and bolts from the wing, back onto the stage, yelling for someone named Chowder.

* * *

Hell Week is aptly named, Whiskey thinks to himself as he untangle the last knot in the string of fairy lights. He’s been muttering to himself increasing louder for going on ten minutes, and the freshman stagehands are giving him a wide berth, casting nervous glances at his hunched over form.

He stands, tossing the lights on the ground, and catches the nearest crew member to let them know the lights need to be rehung, and to make sure that they don’t _fucking_ tangle this time.

He walks back to his side of the stage where his small desk is stationed. Right as he’s about to sit down, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye, coming from the supply closet turned wood storage.

“Hey, you can’t be in here.” He calls out, flipping on the light. Curled into a corner in Tango, script clutched in his right hand, looking ashen and terrified. “Tango?”

Tango’s head snaps up, and his eyes widen. “Oh. Whiskey. Hey.” He says, pulling his legs closer to himself. “Sorry, I was just, uh. Chilling here for a second. Catching my breath.”

Whiskey frowns, and closes the door to storage. He takes a seat across from Tango, and stares at him for a second. Tango avoids his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Tango shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Whiskey’s eyes narrow. “Bullshit.”

Tango winces. “I’ll get over it.”

Whiskey scoots closer, and sets a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “It’s my job to solve problems. Tell me.”

Tango gnaws on his lip for a second, then lets loose a frustrated sigh. “It’s just… we haven’t practiced the kissing scene yet, and I’m really nervous that I’m going to fuck it up, and I haven’t even kissed anyone _real_ before so how am I supposed to know how to _fake_ kiss someone and I just-”

Whiskey claps a hand over Tango’s mouth. “Tango.” Tango immediately stops trying to talk, and instead glares at Whiskey. “It’ll be fine.” He removes his hand, and Tango stops glaring at him so harshly.

“You don’t _know_ that.”

Whiskey rolls his eyes. “Yes, I do. I’ve done it before. It’s nothing like a real kiss.”

Tango raises both eyebrows, shocked. “Really?”

Whiskey nods. “Really.”

“Will you practice with me?”

The world stops. Whiskey stops, and stares. He’s pretty sure he’s doing a damn good impression of a fish right now, eyes bulging out of his head and all. “Uh.”

“I mean, it’s not real anyway, right?” Tango asks, bolder now.

“I just-”

“Please?”

Whiskey’s hands bunch up the fabric of his khakis, fingers spasming against his thighs. Just then, a knock sounds on the storage room door, shortly followed by a screech that Whiskey is pretty sure is coming from Chad D. “I have to go.” Whiskey stands, and walks backwards until his hand is brushing the metal of the doorknob. “Just… talk to your scene partner. She knows what to do.”

Tango stares at him, frowning. Whiskey bolts.

* * *

The cheers from the end of the very last showing are so loud they echo through the wings of the stage. Whiskey says one last send-off message to the rest of his crew, and then is pulled onstage by the actors for the traditional thank-you to the stage manager.

It’s over quickly enough, and Whiskey scuttles back to his desk. This year’s set was pretty minimal in terms of pieces, so the strike won’t take more than an hour, he hopes. All the actors are being sent home, since they usually just get in the way of the crew anyhow, and Whiskey is… grateful. Actors get a little much, and he’s been avoiding Tango for two weeks now, ever since the Storage Closet Incident. He only has an hour left, and then he won’t have to see him for at least a few months, until the next show. He hides in said closet, pretending to organize the old set pieces to make room for the new ones.

Whiskey makes ten minutes before _that_ hope is shattered. “Whiskey?” He sighs, and turns. Tango’s behind him, fiddling with his costume hat. They’re alone, the few actors that remain out in the lobby greeting guests, and the rest of the crew striking the set on stage.

“What’s up?” Whiskey asks, turning back to the wood and pretending to re-stack the same fence posts he’d been restacking for ten minutes now.

“Can I talk to you?”

Whiskey moves a few to rest on their sides. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

He feels Tango move closer. “You know what I mean.”

Whiskey closes his eyes, takes a breath, and turns around. “Shoot.”

Tango licks his lips, and looks over Whiskey’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I really didn’t mean to.” His words sound practiced, like he’d said them into his mirror before saying them here. “I like you, and I thought you might have felt the same, but I was wrong. I still want to be your friend though, and if you’ll let me, I’d be glad to-”

Whiskey pushes aside everything that’s telling him that this is a bad idea, because the look on Tango’s face right now (a little lost, a little heartbroken) is too much. He loops his arms around Tango’s neck, and pulls him downward into a kiss.

Their lips press together. Tango smells like fresh linen, and lemon-scented detergent, and tastes like chocolate. It’s… pleasant, and something warm settles in Whiskey’s chest. Tango presses closer, settling his hands on Whiskey’s hips, pushing a knee in between Whiskey’s thighs.

The sound of a power drill breaks them out of it. Whiskey stares at Tango, takes in the sight of him. Some time during the last few moments, his hands had tangled themselves in Tango’s hair, and his messy locks mixed with the the blown-out look of Tango’s pupils made Whiskey alight, with want, and with… something else, something less needy and urgent. He finds he likes it.

He pushes Tango away, and grins, wide and unbidden. “C’mon.” He links his hand with Tango’s, and pulls him towards the door.

Tango doesn’t budge. “Where are we going?”

Whiskey huffs, impatient. “We can’t make out in a supply closet.”

_“Why not?”_ Tango sounds mildly upset, but still a little dazed too.

“Because it smells weird in here.” Whiskey tugs on his hand again. “We’ll go make out in my car like adults.”

Tango goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt me [](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/ask%E2%80%9D>here</a>.)


End file.
